


And I Will Sharpen My Knife on Your Soul

by DarkmoonBoar



Series: Tumblr Bloodborne Drabbles [2]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dissociation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pre-Bloodborne timeline, Sexual Assault, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 04:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar
Summary: Before he became a Vileblood or Hunter, Adrian's life was far from happy.He learned just how beastly men could be at the age of fifteen.





	And I Will Sharpen My Knife on Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Taken from my RP tumblr blog

He could barely feel any of his limbs as he trudged back home in the mockingly bright midday sun, on a perfectly cheery and blue cloudless day. Feeling completely outside of himself, the gangly youth marched up the steps of his family’s dreary gray brick home, staring blankly forward with unfocused eyes and just barely aware of the trickling sensation between his long legs. Chin-length, chocolate brown hair stuck out in all directions, matted and ratty in the back. The glasses sitting on the bridge of his straight nose sits slightly crooked, barely hanging onto his wide face with the chain dangling on the side. A small rivulet of blood runs down from his nostrils, down his thin lips and onto his chin.

He didn’t remember opening the door but he found himself in the chilly but fairly well-lit interior between open curtains and lit candles, barely registering his sister reading in the cramped parlor and looking at him with a quirked eyebrow. Home early from the docks, apparently. Wordlessly, Adrian closed the door, ignoring the pair of eyes staring at him intently. With a body that no longer felt his own, he ambled to the left, his boots heavy on the wooden floor, past the kitchen, into the bathroom, and shut the door.

All he could smell was the pungent scents of sweat and sex and shame and self-loathing.

Practically tearing his clothes off and wrenching off his boots, the fifteen year old began running water into the basin. At least some awareness of his surroundings must have returned, because he wished the water could be hot enough to scald off his skin, to scald off the creeping feeling of being unclean. Instead, to his fingers, it felt almost icy cold. Oh well, it least it would further numb his body. Maybe he could freeze the sensation of those hands still on his body, gripping his hips so tight it felt like the wrong part of his body was being strangled, reaching around to touch places barely developed by recent puberty. The thundering rush of water seems so far away in the distance as his mind cruelly replays everything over and over and over and over, trying to make sense and _why him gods above?_

Turning the squeaky faucet to the right when the hammering of water sounded less like pounding on the metal and more like torrential rain on a lake, Adrian gingerly dipped his bare left foot into the water. Not as frigid as he had hoped, but it would do. Slowly, he sat down in the full tub, curling his arms around his propped up legs. For a moment, he stayed almost painfully still, barely blinking his glassy dark eyes as they absorbed the pattern of the bricks, anything to distract from the need to peel off his skin, to flay himself alive and bleed out all the taint from his pale flesh.

Instead of reaching for a bar of lye soap, the arm he flops over the side of the basin, his hand clumsily searching around for the object he desires. Long, elegant fingers curl around a gray soap bar-shaped, light object filled with tiny holes and coarse. Lifting it off the floor, he brought it first to his left arm, and began to furiously scrub. Red drops of blood battered the bath water.

He was such a fool for not recognizing those leering and skin-searing looks as he attended to the garden to one of his father’s friends (whose name he refused to even think about). The way those eyes roved over his form like he was little more than a tied hog on a platter for a feast. And the bastard, he knew, _he knew he knew knew **KNEW**_ of Adrian’s curiosity towards other boys his age. An adult he had trusted, and trusted no longer. Between his mother and father, he already put very little faith in adults to begin with, so it wasn’t like the rug had been pulled out. No, it just confirmed his worst suspicions.

Gliding the pumice stone down to his chest, he continued his task to scrape off his skin. To scrape of all those words, of having a more pleasing shape than his sister (who he also had the gal of calling her a cunt), of having long sensuous legs to wind around _someone_ (the implications the implications the bloody implications), of having doe-like eyes since deer are such _alluring_ creatures, and of having an ample rear despite his slender form. Even just recalling all those filth fucking sentences in his head made Adrian shudder as the stone turned milky skin to livid scarlet.

Why did he say yes to coming inside? The thought welled up inside him, building and building pressure in the deepest recesses of his stomach. Adrian didn’t even bother to stand as he continued his frantic task. Every inch of his skin will be made red and raw until his fingers bleed from the effort. All of it felt forever contaminated. No amount of scrubbing, no amount of lathering up with soap, no amount of boiling water would bring back what was lost. But he could try, and gods above, he would try.

Once he abraded enough of his skin that he actually felt minor pricks of pain from just how tender his skin was, he sat in the tub again, this time leaning back to rest his head against the lip. Who could he even tell? Who would even believe him? The only thing that would come out of divulging such information would be more bloody noses, bruises, and welts. It would be his word against that family friend. Better keep it to himself and remain quiet. His life was hard enough already without the bitterness of truth making it that much harder to swallow.

And the worst thought was that he had to go back to maintain an appearance After all, pruning rose bushes and hedges actually earned him money to help when he could finally make his escape from the prison he called home. Just the thought of putting himself through that _again_ made him want to vomit everywhere and gouge out his eyes.

Though his body felt fine now, other than the fact his nose still occasionally smarted, he knew just how sore he would be tomorrow. That he’d be covered in bruises he wouldn’t and couldn’t explain. The fact that he not only spurned the man’s advances but hadn’t found any physical arousal in being violated had incensed him enough to beat Adrian until a fist caused his nose to bleed and he screamed until he could do so no more. At least none of his bones had been broken, and that the brute hadn’t taken his frustration out on Adrian’s genitals.

Nearly lost in thought, it finally occurs to him to actually use soap to cleanse away the sweat brought on by fear and a grown man’s body heat on him and the exertion of struggle. He does so joylessly, hissing when the lather irritates his abrasions. Even as the water chimes and ripples, his mind is elsewhere, in a place outside of reality where nothing can reach.

Except a few knocks on the door rouse him out of his daze. Then, a strong but gentle and monotonous voice asks, “Ade? Are you well? You’ve been in there for an hour, at least.”

He blinks, staring at the walls that look as weary as he feels. Bonelessly, he stands up in order to search for a towel. As he begins to softly pat himself dry, he answers in a raw, hoarse, and cracked voice, “I’ll be out shortly, dearest sister.” Again, his mind goes blank and outside of his body as he slips his clothes on gingerly. Truly, when the night came, he wanted to burn these, burn anything that reminded him of what happened. As he puts his arms through his sleeves, he goes to check his nose and find that the bleeding has stopped.

Once he buttoned every button and tied all the laces on his clothing, he opened the door and let the creak open. As before, his sister sat reading, every so often looking up from her book curiously before peering back down.

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked, almost as if she knew.

Adrian simply replied in a flat voice and averted his eyes, “No.” His stomach began to churn.

Luci responded by giving him one of those unreadable looks she was so fond of giving him when she thought he was behaving strange and pursed her lips, but said no more. Sitting down in a cushioned chair, the adolescent boy gazed at her with miserable, stinging eyes before he went to excuse himself to regurgitate.

And then he went to fill himself to the brim with the coldest hate.


End file.
